The stocking
by Beckydaspatz
Summary: Sam thinks on what Christmas really means to him. Spoilers up to S5


He remembers his stocking, although tattered and torn and most definitely stolen from somewhere or swiped from a garbage bin, hanging from the highest piece of the furniture in the room. Without fail the worn little sock would hang, tiny S sticking out in white cotton from the dirty red fabric. It would sway slightly with the weight of the contents within, a stick of gum, a pack of crayons pilfered from a local dinner, a handful of coins acquired from the hot asphalt they have spent most of their lives pounding. Sam never asked where they came from, never inquired why some years he had to shake and shake until some hidden treasure came pouring from the bottom of the stocking while other years balls and yo yos and pencil and pens teemed from the top. He never wondered why there was always so much more to find on the years that his Dad was strangely absent, he didn't notice until he was much, much older that Dean's stocking hung oddly empty. That the only presents his brother had to look forward to were bullets and knives and a halfhearted hug from a man who barely even realized it was Christmas until his chubby younger son pestered him about Santa. He didn't know that the reason Dean's clothes were littered with holes and tears and stains was because he was committed to giving Sam the best damn Christmas he could manage despite the personal cost to himself. He didn't know until it was far to late to grasp at the remnants of Dean's childhood how much he had lost. How much he had really given to Sam. He didn't get it. He couldn't comprehend the extent of Dean's love for him until he made the deal.

He lost so much of himself in the months that followed, the pieces of who he was broke and shattered and slips into the sands of time as he remade himself. He had to be more like Dean, just like Dean, if he was going to have a chance to save Dean.

But he didn't save Dean and the twisted dark version of himself that he had become distorted even more until he didn't know who he was anymore. Just a shadow version of himself bent on revenge and ripping off the head of the bitch Lilith. Even with his brother back by his side he was blinded, completely side swept into obsession and the need to be the strong one for once. So focused on taking the lead and ridding the world of evil that he doesn't even realize how close he is to the gates of Hell until the mouth opens up underneath him.

He's made a lot of mistakes, a lot of calls where he went in half cocked. His brother was gone and so, he was gone as well. But he's back now. Back to being just Sam Winchester, back to doing the right thing not for the power or the glory or anything else he can crush in his hands, but because it is the type of man he is. The type he can be proud of.

It takes him a week of hustling pool to be able to come up with the type of money he needs for this gift. It is with profound love and respect that he retrieves the used stocking, still emblazoned with the almost unnoticeable S, from his duffel and stuffs it to the brim with all of Dean's favorite things. Busty Asian Beauty's, rounds for his gun, peanut M&M's,wax for his car, a roll of quarters, a new wallet, a cell phone case and a stick of gum because Sam knows Dean will recognize the brand from early days. With a flourish to the top of the stocking to print a large D Sam sets the stocking in the driver seat in the Impala and waits.

It only takes Dean a couple of minutes to come stomping back from the mini mart.

"Dude," he begins throwing open the door. "If I have to hear one more cheery Christmas song coming through grainy piece of shit speakers I'm gonna," he breaks off as he falls back onto the package.

"Whoa!" he cries out reaching behind his back to claim the treasure. "What the hell?"

Dean tilts the stocking towards the flickering parking lot light, confusion crinkling his features. "What is...is this..." His fingers play with the edge of the skin magazine peeking out of the top.

Sam smiles sideways at him. "Merry Christmas Dean."

Dean's thumb brushes over the scribbled D that now overlays the felt S. "Merry Christmas Sam."

And for the first time in too many years to count, it is.


End file.
